


the faces of these people grow more dear to me

by jondrette



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:11:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jondrette/pseuds/jondrette
Summary: Dmitry met his arch nemesis in the late summer days of July, when Anya wandered in through the door of their apartment in the Latin Quarter with a four legged friend following in tow.





	the faces of these people grow more dear to me

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the tree ring’s brushbloom glow. anyway, here’s a story of how dmitry came to (sort of) enjoy pooka’s company.  
> based on a prompt from tumblr user anyasdimitry. originally posted on my tumblr, christyaltomaire.

Dmitry met his arch nemesis in the late summer days of July, when Anya wandered in through the door of their apartment in the Latin Quarter with a four legged friend following in tow.

“What’s that?” He said, thick brows furrowing as he prepared to stand his ground. Demand that she lure the dog out the door, shut it, and never let it set its dirty paw inside again.

“It’s a dog, Dmitry. Isn’t he cute?” And then she looked up at him with that smile, and the fight was drained from him in an instant.

Dmitry would later argue that she’d caught him on a bad day, rather than admitting the reason he let the dog stay was her goddamn smile.

 

* * *

 

He might not have thrown the dog out, and maybe he’d stopped groaning whenever Anya would affectionately refer to Pooka as their baby, but he refused to stop complaining about his … unpleasant aroma.

“He stinks,” he said, arms folded above his chest.

“He’s a dog. He’s supposed to smell.”

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t told Anya, but sleeping with her in his arms was the only thing that would allow Dmitry a full night of rest. Without her there, he’d tousle and wake again and again, sweat trickling at the hairline. So when Anya fell ill with the flu and retreated to the couch to sleep by herself (“I don’t wanna get you sick, too. It’s better we sleep in separate beds until I get better.”), Pooka was the only company Dmitry had when the sun went down and night settled over Paris.

A week later, when Dmitry was the one sleeping on the couch, Anya woke in the early morning only to find Pooka cuddled up to his side. The image is so sweet that she puts off making him breakfast for an hour, just so she can sketch the two of them sleeping. She left the drawing on the table, in between used tissues.

Later, as she was setting the table, a thud could be heard from the living room.

“Anyaaa,” a groggy voice whined. “Why’d you let him sleep with me? Now he’ll never leave me alone.”

She doesn’t really see why that’s such a problem.


End file.
